Well...

In the past three days I've:

*Woke at about 3 AM rubbin' jalapeno juice into my left eye. This is a stupid practice, even while asleep. While I was attemptin' to dislodge the burn outta my puffed-up eye with a cold wet washrag, I did me some thinkin'. "Self," I says, "I know it's always been your policy not to wash your hands after you piss. Anybody with good sense knows that if you don't piss on your hand, then washin's a waste of good soap and water. But next time you carve up some jalapenos for your dinner salad….please….please…piss on your hand before you go to bed."

*Tested the sharpness of my telephone tech scissors with the pad of my thumb. Again. Customers HATE when you drip blood all over their upholsteries. Picky fucks.

*Seen the ghost of Westinghouse. A test cable that I had set on the top shelf apparently decided to uncoil itself by one turn and get its ends all intimate and friendly with the AC guts of a power supply beside it. Turns out my body WILL NOT blow a 15-amp breaker. I saw Westinghouse for a couple seconds, then he morphed into the company secretary, who ran screamin', flingin' papers and shit, out of the shop. I'm thinkin' all my dancin' scared her. But it coulda been the test cable bouncin' off her face.

Now, then. Since I'm retarded, and calculate doin's in the space of calendar years, and know that stupid bad stuff generally comes in threes….

Nope. Maybe fours.

In May or so I was drivin' around the arroyos and dry chunky hills just west and south of Palo Pinto, lookin' for a radio site usin' bad maps and directions. 'Go left hard up a sharp hill. Painted tower. Cattle gate at entrance.' Yup. Thar it is. Typical rutty road on the other side of barbed wire, hawks glidin' around the tower at the top of the hill. Cool.

'The gate lock combo is 4337.' I left the truck runnin'. The gate was unusual in that the electric cattle wire at the top of the barbed wire fence continued on across it, yellow insulators hollerin' DANGER. I logged this information. Uh-huh. I bent to the combo lock and started spinnin' corroded green numbers. 4337. Damn, don't work. Bang the old lock. 4337. Nope. OK. Instructions have been dyslexic before. 7334. 3447. 4773. A breeze kicked up. 7443.

A wisp of my hair moved in the wind and laid on the electric fence. 37..ANGK!!!

I saw Gawd, came to laying against the truck bumper.